


how the tides rise

by precognition



Category: One Piece
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Sanji Is Not A Vinsmoke, Vinsmoke Sanji-centric, Violinist Sanji, girl do i need to tag anything else, it's not like i have a plot, the zs isn't the focus lol.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27369967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/precognition/pseuds/precognition
Summary: (title from the chaconne by dessa)sanji plays the violin. it reminds him of his childhood.
Relationships: Monkey D. Luffy & Vinsmoke Sanji, Mugiwara Kaizoku | Strawhat Pirates & Vinsmoke Sanji, Roronoa Zoro & Vinsmoke Sanji, Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	how the tides rise

**Author's Note:**

> i'm allergic to plot sorry in advance for this one y'all. i just like violinist sanji especially given the emphasis on his hands in canon. enjoy.

Sanji’s hands spiderweb down the strings, fingers tracing familiar steps across a thin brown neck. He keeps his touch on the bow light, and the notes ring out clear in the late-afternoon stillness. Memory takes him through nearly the entire first movement of the concerto, until a slight slip of his finger renders a note flat. His flinch at the dissonant tone is immediate, and the violin almost slips from his grasp before his reflexes kick in and he tightens his hold. The bow trembles in his hands as he loosens the horsehair, and he whispers a small apology to the violin as he lays it back in its case. He smokes through half a pack of cigarettes before the tremors in his wrists stop.

Zoro traces the light indents left by the strings as they lay in bed later that night. Sanji thinks back to a time when the pads of his fingers were so calloused that it dulled his sense of touch. Thinks of a time even before then, of steel biting into the soft pads of small fingers, still clumsy with youth. Zoro must notice his silence, his faraway stare, but, to his credit, he says nothing. Only takes the hand that’s gone limp in his grasp and presses open-mouthed kisses to the pale blue veins on Sanji’s wrist. Mouths at the lines on his palm, kisses his knuckles gently. When Zoro touches his lips to the tips of Sanji’s fingers, the soft skin there tingles. Sanji finds himself blinking back tears, and heaves himself out of bed with a muttered excuse and a hand reaching for his lighter. Zoro doesn’t follow.

It’s a few days later when he next gets the chance to play. He makes it further this time - midway into the second movement - before he slips up again. A missed note, this time. Hands not as nimble on the strings as they were when he was younger, when he was still regularly practicing, and his finger doesn’t move quite fast enough during a particularly tricky transition. He doesn’t put the violin down, this time. He pauses, first, to remind himself to breathe, to remember where he is and who he has become. Then, he picks his instrument back up. Replays those four measures over and over again, until his fingers skip through the notes flawlessly, without a trace of hesitation. A glance out the window shows him that the first purples of dusk are creeping into the sky. Sanji returns the violin to its case, and goes to prepare dinner.

Zoro says nothing about the reddish irritation on Sanji’s neck where the chin rest has bit into him, but his insistence on marking up that area doesn’t escape the cook’s notice. The breakfast he makes the next morning is sweeter than usual, pancakes layered with syrup. He slips away after washing up. At this time of day, the pounding coming from Usopp’s workshop and the clanking as Franky fixes the ship are ever-present, filling the small space where he practices. He closes his eyes and takes a slow breath, letting the distractions fade out, and begins to play. He’s not sure how long he’s been practicing for, trained hands replaying and correcting tricky measures, when he feels a touch on his shoulder. He’s dropped into a crouch, arms crossed before him in a defensive posture, before he registers the familiar presence accompanying the touch. He opens his eyes to find Zoro staring at him, an emotion he can’t decipher in his good eye. Sanji glares, daring him to say something, but Zoro doesn’t move an inch the entire time Sanji is loosening his bow, or when he stalks out of the practice room, a cigarette clenched between his teeth. 

Sanji goes to bed alone that night. When he struggles to fall asleep, he replays the concerto in his head. In his thoughts, his fingers don’t stick on difficult measures, nor does his bow slip during double stops. His rest is fitful, and he is sullen as he prepares breakfast the next morning. Zoro stays long enough to wolf down some fried rice before disappearing, and Sanji tries not to feel hurt. He retreats to his practice room again, only to find it already occupied. Zoro is standing over his open violin case, running his hands over the strings. He stares at the image for a moment, silvered strings contrasting against the swordsman’s dark fingers, thick with the kind of calluses that only come from killing. 

“Don’t touch below the fingerboard, dumbass, you’re going to get your oils all over the strings.”  
Zoro looks up, and obligingly removes his fingers. “How the fuck was I supposed to know that, shitty cook?”  
Sanji rolls his eyes. “It’s a delicate fucking instrument, how about you just don’t go rubbing your greasy hands all over it in the first place, huh?”  
Zoro’s jaw clenches. “Whatever.” He grumbles.  
Sanji sighs. “Look, I get that you don’t like me playing it or whatever the fuck, but can you at least try not to damage the instrument? This shit is kinda expensive.”  
Zoro’s eye blinks in surprise. “I don’t have a problem with you playing the viola -”  
“Violin.” Sanji corrects.  
“Yeah, whatever. Like I was saying, I don’t give a shit about the instrument, but I’m not going to let you get yourself hurt over it.”  
“What the hell are you talking about, dumbass? If this is about the fucking chin rest, that’s normal, the irritation fades after a day or so, it’s just that my skin isn’t used to -”  
“Is the flinching normal?” Zoro cuts him off. “The shaking hands, the chainsmoking worse than usual, the fucking crying in bed?” He shrugs. “Look, I’m not your fucking mother or whatever, but as much of an shitty asshole creep as you are, you’re still my nakama, and I don’t want you doing shit that’s going to fuck you up. That’s all.”

Sanji bites down harder on his cigarette, and doesn’t meet Zoro’s eyes as the swordsman walks out of the room. Even with the other man gone, he doesn’t pick up the instrument, instead opting to lean against the wall. He watches the smoke from his cigarette curl up towards the ceiling, and remembers learning to play the violin - the strikes to the back of his wrist for missed notes, the hours of repetitive practice, the pieces he was forced to restart for every mistake he made. He’s still lost in thought when his captain bounds into the room, rubber arms narrowly avoiding knocking the violin case off its table. 

“SANJIIIIIIIIIIIIIII.”  
Sanji stubs his cigarette out on the wall. “You just had breakfast an hour ago, Luffy, I’m not cooking you more food.”  
“There you are!” Luffy’s arms stretch to grab him and pull him into a tight hug. “Sanjiii, why aren’t you playing the music? You’re always playing music now.”  
Sanji blinks down at him. “You’ve been listening?”  
“Duh.” Luffy grins. “It’s pretty, so Chopper and me like to sit outside and listen.”  
“Ah.” Sanji thinks of Zoro’s face, that unreadable expression in his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll be playing anymore, Luffy.”  
Luffy rolls his eyes. “Don’t be silly, Sanji likes it! Why would you stop?”  
Sanji opens his mouth, and then closes it again, unsure of how to explain this to his captain. Luckily for him, Luffy has always been perceptive where it counts.  
“Oh, it’s cause it makes Zoro worry that you’re sad, right?” He giggles. “That’s silly, just because something has bad memories from the past doesn’t mean you can’t make good ones with it now, right?”  
Sanji considers his captain’s words for a moment. “Luffy, go wait outside with Chopper, okay? I’ll be out in a minute.” 

When Zoro returns to the lower deck of the Sunny, he’s greeted with the sight of Sanji, eyes closed and fingers flying, playing for his audience. Chopper is seated on Robin’s lap as she quietly reads, and Nami has her maps spread out on the deck as she fends off Luffy’s grabbing hands. Franky and Usopp are fiddling on some new invention together as Brook provides (likely unhelpful) input. As he watches, Sanji’s pinkie slips on a particularly difficult sequence, and the note that comes out is sour. The swordsman braces himself as Sanji’s eyes fly open, but the cook just smiles at the sight of his crew, and his lids slip closed again as he continues to play. Zoro doesn’t have much time to think this over, as Luffy notices his presence and immediately hauls him over to sit and listen with him. Zoro leans against his captain, and falls asleep to the sounds of Sanji playing for his family.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this leave a comment that shit fuels me. if you didn't like it also leave a comment maybe we can kiss.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wise Men Say](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27371071) by [J_EnotsoLovely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_EnotsoLovely/pseuds/J_EnotsoLovely)




End file.
